The weeping boy
by MB-The Otter
Summary: Saying that Tim Drake doesn't cry would be a lie. But affirming that he does, wouldn't be truth. Because those who know him well, who have seen beyond the tears he sometimes shows on his face, know that Tim Drake sort of not-cries.


**Hey! Um, okay, I'm going to apologize for all the mistakes you'll find in this drabble. My native tongue is Spanish, but someone said "If you have problems writing, then write and ask for corrections and tips, don't be stupid" and I think that's a good idea. So, if you have any recommendations, tips or something helpful, I'll read you in the comments :)**

 **This work is also published in Ao3.**

* * *

Saying that Tim Drake doesn't cry would be a lie. But affirming that he does, wouldn't be truth.

Because those who know him well, who have seen beyond the tears he sometimes shows on his face, know that Tim Drake sort of not-cries.

(And not-crying is certainly different than crying.

In a way, it is more personal. More...)

* * *

At first, detecting it is difficult. Janet and Jack didn't know, and the Waynes were a little busy, but eventually, Dick Grayson notices.

His little brother, Tim, will laugh and talk, and jest, and cry when is appropriate. Welcome. And he will brood, and rage, and scream when he is agitated. Just like any normal teenager.

But.

When he cries- _cries_ \- Or _not-cries_ , he is static. He is calm and ancient, and so, so small.

He pulls on that expression... Half neutral, half something else, and furrows his browns just the smallest bit. Similar to the one he wears when he has a sudden realization, but this is more... More _peace_ and less edges.

This is…

Blue, big eyes tinted with _nostalgia_ , so deep, so sad and alone, and weeping in its own way of dry sorrow. Pale lips, thin, pressed together with too-much-force. Bony hands, slender fingers that stretch at his sides. As if he wants to reach for something far away but changes his mind.

Tim will be walking through the hallway and see a photograph, a flower, or even the lights that seem blue on the evening, and stop. Stares. His gaze will travel agonizingly slow around the room he is in, and Dick will know.

Dick _knows_.

That this, this sudden epiphany.

Is a cry.

(Richard can only imagine the feeling. The tears running down his throat instead of rolling off his face. His heart clenching, pained, at the sight of any beauty that deserves a moment.

He doesn't have to imagine the memories.)

* * *

Alfred is next.

He is sitting on a bench, resting for a bit, when he sees his young master walk through the gardens. Timothy is a beautiful sight, is his child, his _kid_ , and Alfred is sure he didn't bring the joy Dick and Jason did to the manor, but they're all happy nonetheless.

He thinks...

He _thinks_ , but he sees him.

Abruptly, Tim looks _like he is about to cry_. Like he is about to cry, and _doesn't know how_. He looks lost and small, and Alfred comes to the realization that Tim is not just his child. And that he isn't more than a worried grandfather, who can do nothing but observe as all his children are consumed, _drowned_ , by this life.

* * *

Bruce does it later. _Late_. As he always is.

It is only when he comes back from being lost in time, when he notices his son zoning-out. Now more than ever. He'd listen to Alfred playing the piano in the music room and stop.

His face would waver, his body language would change. He would seem like a boy instead of the adult he's trying to be.

He would look like someone who has realized everything is wrong.

And though it pains Bruce (a lot, it hurts him because all he wants to do is heal, soothe, hug, talk), he doesn't know what to do.

* * *

Steph never realizes.

Tim didn't not-cried much when she was around.

* * *

Cass only has to look at him. One glance and she knows, and she hurts. For him. With him.

The boy who weeps.

Robin. Tim. Red Robin. Brother.

He seems to be crying all the time, even when he is happy and full of joy, and even when he's acting cocky, smug, confident.

(Sometimes he zones-out. Staring at things he finds beautiful, hurtful.

Sometimes the only thing he does is not-reach for something.)

Her little brother is so sad.

* * *

Tim knows he does it. Tries to stop. Can't. Everything is overwhelming, sometimes.

(Sometimes things are good.)

It is in the way a poet wrote some verses, or in the small breeze that moves the leaves, or in the sight of the naked back of Stephanie. There is such… beauty.

It makes him waver. Falter. Fall. Try to lean in and reach.

(It makes him look at the ugliness of everything else.)

Makes him feel unbearably old. And young, and small. And broken.

So broken he might _cry_.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


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